One Thousand Screaming Souls
by JustLikePagliacciDid
Summary: Crossover with SoulCalibur. The Sword of Salvation... the Sword of Heroes... Soul Edge. Clare takes it by the hilt, and sweeps off into the darkness.
1. Chapter 1: Soul Edge

_Fun Fact:_ Most people who play as Ivy don't actually know her real name: 'Isabella Valentine.'

_Fun Fact Two: _It is incredibly hard to describe Voldo's movements to someone who has never seen them. YouTube calls you.

**Chapter 1: Soul Edge**

"_Be careful when you fight monsters, lest you become one."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche_

The destruction inflicted on the town her. The corpses of men, women, and children littered the ground, mangled horribly, their faces twisted in final grimaces of horror. The low palisade that hard surrounded the town was smashed, and the buildings had faired little better. Clare, number forty-seven in the Organization, walked through this field of death, eyes alert. The yoma could be anywhere, ready to pounce. Then, she would have to fight even though there was no one left to pay. Cautiously, she crouched down by one of the dead.

The woman had been killed with a sword. A long gash ran down her back; she had been cut down as she had fled. Yoma did not use swords. Clare stood, glancing around. Men butchered these people, not yoma. However tragic, this was not the organization's business. Clare stood. Still, something felt wrong. She could faintly detect some yoma energy, but surely it was not enough-

She rolled forward just in time. The sword passed mere inches behind her. Clare turned around and drew steel.

Her attacker a towering, hulking… thing. One of its arms bulged with brown, pulpy flesh, ending in a set of claws. It carried a huge sword, longer than Clare's own, gripped with both hands and carried behind and parallel to the ground. The stranger wore a full suit of blue armor, although its mutated arm could not fit in the suit. A long plume of red hair stuck out of the helmet and nearly touched the ground. It was radiating yoma energy, but it was as no yoma as she had ever seen. Was it some kind of awakened being?

Clare raised her blade. There was nothing to say; one of them would die.

The stranger rushed forward, swinging in a broad arc. Claymore sidestepped the blow and countered. The knight parried, knocking her thrust aside. Clare jumped back as the blade descended. As they fought, she recognized her opponent's enormous with his massive sword. Her arm ached with the strain of warding off his powerful blows.

The knight swung violently. Clare ducked the swipe, and suddenly his sword was high over his head. He would crush her skull, like this.

Her arm surged with power, and she slashed out. She cut his legs out from beneath him. The knight fell down, giving one last haphazard swing; Clare parried and split his skull.

He hit the ground, face down.

The wind whistled through the town.

His sword stared at Clare.

Clare stared back.

She had not gotten a good look at the knight's weapon until now. It was covered with a strange, fleshy substance, and near the hilt a large eye stared at Clare. It radiated yoma power, but it did not seem hostile. Sheathing her claymore, Clare picked up the sword. The eye continued to watch her, inquisitively.

It felt good in her hands. She took a couple casual swipes with it. It was remarkably light, given its immense size. Curiously, she raised it and looked directly into the eye. It looked back at her. Something about that curious gaze reminded her of Raki.

-

A mist had rolled into the mountains. Raki shivered, having only a light, soaked-through coat. His wrists were bound with a long rope that connected the entire line of slaves, stretching down the narrow defile. At the head, the slavers rode, with whips and swords. They were laughing, joking amongst themselves, apathetic to the suffering of their goods. Raki felt envious of their heavy, fur-lined coats and broad hats.

The end of the pass was up ahead. As the long line passed through, Raki caught a glimpse of the end of the line; slavers were back there, too, cracking their whips any laggards. Raki bowed his head.

A small town was up ahead, little more than a trading post. It consisted of a single street running between a few ramshackle business-houses. There was a store, an inn, a stable, and a brothel. Raki looked around. The slavers were leaving their goods and going into the buildings, leaving the slaves with only a few guards. Depressed, Raki sat down. Who knew how long it would be before they would get moving again? He would probably catch cold…

He looked at the townsfolk. Most of them had hurried into their homes and businesses when the slavers came, but a few of the braver ones remained outside. There was only one who stood out: the one who wasn't staring, cowering, or even interested. It was a woman, wearing a heavy coat, sitting on the porch of the store. She was staring at a strange metal instrument, maybe a compass. Raki glanced around. Some of the other slaves had noticed her as well, all puzzled. She was quite courageous for a mountain woman confronted with brutal slavers.

The woman snapped the instrument shut and stalked off to the inn. The slaves seemed disappointed; they had hoped for something interesting. However, after only a few moments, the woman came back, accompanied by a slaver. They walked up and down the rows of slaves.

"This one is very fine, madam," said the slaver, excitedly. "She's healthy, has good teeth, strong…"

"And this one?" asked the woman. Her voice was as cold as ice.

"He's a tough old bird. I guarantee you he will last a long time…"

Slowly, the woman and the slaver made their way down the line, until they were in front of Raki.

The woman, he now saw, was a slim, pale woman, with reddish eyes and white hair. Even so, she could not be very old, nor could she possibly be a Claymore. Raki looked straight at her.

"This boy comes from the south… He's a good cook."

The woman said nothing; she just looked straight into Raki's eyes.

"I will take this one," said the woman.

"We've got a purchase!" shouted the slaver, and there was a flurry of activity as Raki was cut free from his bindings, the ropes dropped on the ground. Raki was almost too stunned to notice as he was shoved towards the inn. His former fellows were all envious of an early purchase, an early escape from the long, cold march through the mountains.

The inn was a rickety wooden structure. The floorboards creaked unmercifully, and every time the wind blew with any strength the worn sign outside rattled loudly. It seemed to have very few clients, except for slavers. Raki was seated in the corner, watched by two muscle-bound guards, while the purchase was made.

The woman had pushed back her hood, revealing short white hair. She did not look like any woman that Raki had ever seen before, even considering his journey with Clare. As he watched, the woman deposited twenty-odd beras into the slaver's hand. Raki was a little disappointed that he was worth the same kind of money it took to buy a night at the inn.

The slavers promptly left, no doubt headed for the brothel. The woman watched them leave, then strode over to Raki. She stared down at him, imperiously.

"Raki," she said, slowly, as if she were testing the name.

"Y-yes?"

"I am Isabella Valentine," the woman said. "You will address had as 'Mistress' or 'Miss Valentine.'"

"Yes, Miss Valentine," said Raki, nervously.

"Precisely. As my servant, you will be expected to carry my luggage and prepare my food. Can you do that?"

"Yes," he said. There was a pause. "Miss Valentine."

"Very good. Follow me."

They went upstairs.

Miss Valentine's room was sparse. Her only possessions were a collection of beakers, test tubes, and other strange glass devices. Several of them contained fluids. At her instruction, Raki began to carefully load them into her pack. The liquid substances were drained into tough metal jars, and then carefully sealed.

"If you break anything, you will pay for it," said Valentine, warningly.

-

Raki carried the pack on his back. He climbed along an obscure mountain trail, higher and higher. Snow was beginning to fall, first fitfully and then constantly. Periodically, Miss Valentine would stop, open her compass, examine it, close it, and resume the journey. By the time they reached a high, open ridge, Raki suspected she must have done this at least twenty times. As they climbed to the reasonably flat surface, Raki paused and looked over the great mountains. They were a truly breathtaking sight.

"What are you waiting for?" said Miss Valentine said, sharply.

"I just wanted to see the mountains from high up, Mistress," said Raki.

Valentine took pause. She looked out over the range for a few moments. "Yes, it is breathtaking, isn't it?"

She strode off. Raki found himself struggling to keep up. Up ahead, Raki could see the ruins of a tower and some other fortifications, reduced to mere foundations. Miss Valentine suddenly paused, raising her hand.

"Miss-" Raki began.

"Be silent and stay close," snapped Valentine.

She drew her sword, a short, heavy thing, and stalked to the left, almost like a cat pursuing a mouse. Raki followed her. She crouched down in the snow and ran a gloved finger along the ground. Then, Raki saw it.

Tracks. Some strange thing had been traveling in the snow, recently. It had evidently been walking on all fours; the rear footprints looked human, but the others looked like they belonged to some kind of clawed animal… a yoma?

Raki came up to his mistress's side. "Miss Valentine…?"

"He's here," she muttered.

"Who is, Miss-"

"Voldo. Stay close, and don't let him sneak up on you. I've lost one servant to him already."

Raki swallowed, nervously.

They slowly approached the decrepit old tower. Raki glanced around, nervously. Who was Voldo? Why did he leave such strange tracks?

"I don't get it," muttered Miss Valentine. "Why hasn't he struck yet? He has to know we're here…"

Raki glanced up. A strange shape was in the sky.

"What's that?"

"Moved!" yelled Valentine. Raki instinctively stumbled aside as Miss Valentine agilely backflipped away, landing on her feet with her sword at the ready. Then, Voldo landed.

He was the strangest non-demon Raki had ever seen, and he definitely beat out some of the yoma. He wore a skin-tight red outfit, and his entire head was covered by a gold helmet. On either hand he wore three-pronged knife-gloves, the blades splaying forward. He walked with a bizarre, spread-legged gait, his arms swinging loosely by his side.

For a few moments, Voldo and Isabella circled. Then, Raki's mistress swung her sword into nothingness.

Suddenly, the blade broke into sections, connected by a long wire. The whip-sword cut through the air. Voldo bent over backwards as the whip passed over his head and agilely crabwalked away. Miss Valentine rushed forward, whip-sword dancing and twirling in the air around her. Raki was stunned. Voldo could not even get close for fear of being dismembered

Suddenly, Voldo grabbed the wire as it passed and yanked it. Valentine was momentarily lost her balance. The whip went limp, and Voldo rushed in, claws extended. Valentine ducked his first swipe and brought her sword around, but Voldo caught her in a headlock. He had her. Voldo brought one of his knives up towards her throat. Valentine struggled against him, but to no avail.

Desperate, Raki reached into the bag. His fingers closed around the hilt of a sword. He pulled it out and ran towards the battle. Voldo's knife was almost at Valentine's throat, despite her struggling. Raki swung the blade forward and pressed the button at the hilt. The whip-sword lashed forward. Voldo raised his arm; the wire wrapped around his elbow. Isabella twisted free.

Voldo looked at her. Raki yanked on the chain as hard as he could, but Voldo might as well have been a rock. Suddenly, the man slashed his free arm downwards, severing his trapped arm. Raki gasped as his sword went limp. Voldo ran off into the darkness, even as Miss Valentine masterfully slashed after him.

When he got there, she was fuming. "What the hell were you thinking?" she yelled, over the wind.

"I- I was trying to save you, Miss Valentine!" Raki said, startled.

"Didn't you notice I was about to strike his neck?" she demanded.

"Huh?"

"My sword was about to spring open and split his separate his head from his shoulder. If not for your misguided attempt at heroism, his head would be lying on the ground instead of his arm. Now give me that weapon!"

Slowly, Raki handed the sword to her. She stuffed it roughly into her bag. "We'll stay in the tower, tonight."

-

That night, as Raki sat in the corner of the tiny watchtower, his mistress reached into her bag and pulled out an ornate bottle and a small glass cup. She poured a shot of brownish liquor into the cup.

As she drank, Raki glanced out the window into the blizzard outside. Surely, Voldo could not survive out there. Blood loss from a lost arm would be nearly lethal, and total exposure to the elements would surely be fatal. But who was he? Why was he after Miss Valentine?

"Thinking about him?" asked Valentine, suddenly.

"He'll be dead by now, Miss Valentine."

"I doubt it."

_She's definitely drunk,_ thought Raki.

"He's probably alive, huddled in some cave with a fire and some dead thing to eat. He's very hard to kill. I've spent the last five years following him… then you come along and take off his arm."

"But, he took of his own-"

"Quit quibbling."

Raki looked at her. She was flushed, slightly, from the drink. She almost looked human… before, she had looked as though she might have been carved from ice. Now, her eyes were heavy and her cheeks red. Raki shifted, uncomfortably.

"Why are you fighting him, Miss Valentine?"

"That sword," she said, quietly. "That damn sword."

"What sword?"

But she was no longer talkative. After a time, Raki felt his stomach grumbling. "Mistress…?" he began.

"What?"

"Should I make dinner?"

"Go ahead. There's food in the bag," she said, sourly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: A View of the Lake**

He had dragged himself after her. Once his strong arm had become useless, he used his weak one. He followed her like a snake in the grass; separated from his sword, he was but a shadow of the proud warrior that had first fought the swordswoman. His only hope was to find her and steal the sword back before his life left him. He dragged himself after the distant glow of power, blazing in the distance.

_Soul Edge…_ He thought.

But his strength ran out. To drag himself so far… after a query that was on foot… it was hopeless. Slowly, the distant glow of power grew fainter, until it was gone. It was hopeless; without the ability to sense her, he could not catch her. The sword was beyond his reach, and he was dead. He let his face fall. Nothing to do now but wait for the end…

Just as the world was beginning to fade, he felt someone grab him under the armpits and drag him forward. He was too weak to look up, but he figured that it must be quite a strong man to haul a six foot tall, muscle-bound knight in full armor. A brave man, too touch the warrior Nightmare. His leg-stumps dragged along the ground painfully, but he was too far gone to care.

The ground beneath him changed from tan soil to leafy forest. His knees occasionally bumped roots, jolting him with pain. He wondered again, who was strong and persistent enough to drag him this far? And why was he still alive?

Finally, he was deposited on the sand of a beach. He stared at the ground through his visor. He could hear birds singing, the wind rustling through the trees Suddenly, a hand cupped his chin and lifted his face.

He saw the faceof a naked woman. A beautiful woman, he thought. She had a sharp expression, and long blonde hair, slicked back from her forehead. "Who… who?" rasped Nightmare.

"My name is Ophelia," she said, softly. Slowly, she release the leather straps that kept his helmet in place. He tried to stop her with his good arm, but he was too weak. He was at this woman's mercy.

She lifted his helm and saw his terrible visage. He waited for the sudden terror, revulsion. She was totally unafraid, as if she were used to this type of horror. "You're Nightmare," she said.

He nodded, weakly.

"You're the one I've been looking for," she said. "The one with the sword."

She touched his cheek, and he felt his body surge with power; death was suddenly far away. She had revived him with a touch. This woman was strong. Stronger then him, but still weaker than the sword. He looked around. He was on the shore of a halcyon lake, in between green hills covered with trees. The lake shimmered gloriously in the morning sun.

"You're the one who killed all those people," the woman broke in. "A shame; they deified me. They left me offerings." She grinned, devilishly. "Still, they were only people, nothing that beings such as I should be concerned with."

"What…want?" groaned Nightmare.

"What do I want? I want to save you," she said. "I want to possess you. I want to sleep with you. I want to give you what you need… and I want you to bring back my sword."

"My sword," Nightmare said, insistently.

"Our sword," she corrected. "Our sword, or I'll take everything I just gave you."

Nightmare fell silent. He felt stronger. "Do you want more?" asked Ophelia. "I can give it to you. I can even let you leave… but you will belong to me. Don't forget."

"I belong to myself," he said, rising into a sitting position. His legs were beginning to grow back, stronger than ever. The woman had filled him with power… like the sword. The power he needed to subsist.

"No," she said. "I think you belong to the sword. You'll find that I am a more benevolent mistress than that blade. What is it… the Soul Edge?"

Nightmare stared at her. "Yes," he said, "Soul Edge."

"I thought so," she said. Suddenly, a long gash appeared in her arm, as if an invisible knife had been dragged across her skin. From the wound she pulled a silvery metal fragment and offered it to him. Nightmare stared at it, intently. It was a Soul Edge fragment. It shimmered in the sun, innocently. He wanted it desperately. He wanted it so badly; he wanted to reach up and throttle the woman, split her in half and take the fragment.

But he could not. His muscles would not obey him. He looked at her, gut churning with the realization.

"You took my power," she said, lightly.

But that did not make it his power. That made it borrowed power. And as long as that power coursed through his body, she would still control that power. She would control him.

"Now you see," she said, smiling ghoulishly.

-

Clare traveled the dusty path, thinking of the dead warrior behind her. She had crushed his skull and cut off his legs at the knee… he would die of blood loss, if his brains had not been split open. She shook her head. There was no way that the yoma, or whatever it was, was stalking her. She was just being paranoid.

Still, she looked over shoulder, every now and then.

The next town was up ahead. She dearly hoped that this one had not been destroyed. It was unfortunate that the entire town had been wiped out before they could pay. As Clare walked, she examined the landscape; sloping hills, green trees… the south was a green land in full bloom.

After several hours of walking, she came over the crest of the hill and looked at the town below. There were people, albeit frightened ones. She could also detect yoma energy… seven of the beasts were in the town, their auras suppressed. She wondered why the demons had disguised themselves so poorly that they could not even conceal the Organization's number forty-seven.

She descended into the town, entering through the main street. She heard the whispers of the people, whispers of suspicion and fear. She felt slight twinge of anger. She was their savior, the one who was going to save them from the predators that stalked among them. Why did they hate her so? What had she done to earn their distrust, aside from having different eyes and hair?

She looked around. The village headman approached her, nervously. "I… we have the money," he began. "When…"

"If I kill the yoma," interrupted Clare, "a man in black will come to collect the fee. If I am killed, you need not pay anything."

The people had formed a knot around her, looking on nervously. She scanned them; any one of them could be a yoma.

"I see," said the headman. "And-"

Clare drew and severed his head. Purple blood sprayed from the stump. The villagers began to scream, yelling warnings to their friends. Clare leapt over the scattering villagers, picking out the demons. She landed in front of one and slew him, drawing and sheathing her blade faster than any could see. She jumped onto rooftops, slicing down yoma as they tried to jump or fly away. One desperately lashed out at her with claws; she ducked and slashed, and it fell dead. She jumped down into an alley and cut down two more.

Only the seventh remained. With a great leap she tackled him from behind and sent him careening into a corner. He fell there, unmoving. Clare stood over it, sword high over her head. The quizzical eye of her sword gazed down at the yoma like a child seeing a butterfly for the first time. But something made Clare hesitate. The beast… was afraid. It cowered in its pitiful human form, the form of a little girl. It was afraid, just as any human would be.

**Kill it,** something said to her. Her arm awakened, almost of its own accord, and the blade cut through the air. The yoma was split into dozens of pieces, the blade making killing fast cuts. It felt good.

When Clare regained control of her bloodlust, she was drenched with purple blood. The dissected yoma lay before her, savaged beyond recognition. The villagers had gathered around, at a great distance. Clare looked at them, the sword still drawn. They were still afraid of her. They should be praising her, showering her with adulation! Had she not saved them from being consumed by these shape-shifting monstrosities?! Had she harmed any of their number? No! She had killed the very things that would have killed them all, and it would not given it a second thought.

The urge to give take vengeance upon them began to rise. It would be easy to kill them all, no more difficult than a child pulling the wings off a butterfly. She thought of the way they would scream, having only a few seconds to regret their ingratitude.

**Do it,** said the voice. Clare raised the sword, staring ahead intently. The people began to step away, frightened.

_What am I thinking?_ The voice of reason pierced her bloodlust. Suddenly, she was Clare again, gazing into the terrified faces of innocent faces. What was this? Had she begun to awaken? "I apologize," she said, softly, and swept off into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Long Night**

Her head was pounding unmercifully. It felt like a storm was raging between her temples. Clare fell to her knees in a leafy wilderness just outside town. Her head felt like it might split. She massaged her head, desperately trying to get the pain to go away. She just could not take it… She was sobbing, clawing at her forehead, all to make it stop. She felt like she was being tortured, and there was no way to escape.

"Raki!" she moaned, into the night.

She did not know that she had gotten to her feet. She did not know that she had drawn her sword. She did not know that she had gone back to the town. She did not feel the cold stone of the wall. She did not feel the weight of the sword in her hand. She did not see the terrified faces of people she butchered. She did not feel the slickness of the blood on her clothes. She did not hear their screams. She did not know they were innocent people. All she saw was Priscilla's face.

The dawn broke over the town. Clare sat in the center of it, staring at the scene of carnage. Her memories were a mess; a flash of pain, a boy's face… the warrior she had taken the sword from… the rocky land of the east… she looked at the dead bodies. Most of them had been in their pajamas, had fled into the streets. Clare had cut them down as they fled.

There was a woman, standing at the far end of the street. Clare looked up at the stranger; she had long, flowing blonde hair, silver eyes, and dressed like a monster-hunter, like her. She had faint, disapproving smile, like she'd just someone make a horrible mistake.

Clare got to her feet. "Who are you?" she screamed.

The woman said nothing. She only smiled that sorrowful smile.

"I had to kill them!" Clare shrieked. "They hated me! They hated me, even though I saved them! We do so much and receive so little…"

Still, the woman said nothing, did nothing. Slowly, she turned, and walked towards the north. Clare stared after her, wild-eyed. The woman was walking towards the north, calmly. She was striding towards the distant glow of a brilliant power. Priscilla's power.

-

The mountains ended in sudden a cliff overlooking the stormy northern sea. Raki was briefly awestruck by the sight, and paused momentarily. Isabella paused as well, rubbing her temples, eyes shut. Last night's heavy drinking was punishing her, Raki saw. He'd seen the symptoms in his father.

"Whiskey," said Valentine, darkly, "Whatever you do, don't drink whiskey. It's the Dark One's piss."

"Uh- yes ma'am," said Raki, nervously.

They continued along the cliff. Raki could see an inlet up ahead; a small port was nestled in it, no more than a small collection of houses clutching the coast. The bay was grey and uninviting, plied only by a small collection of fishing ships. A couple of bigger galleys were moored at the piers, flying no flags.

"Are those-"

"Pirates," Valentine said, heavily.

They continued along the ridge, which ended in a long, rocky slope. From here, Raki could make out the people of the port; a motley collection of scarred pirates, rugged fishermen, and harlots. Valentine lithely descended the jagged stones; Raki awkwardly climbed down, nearly losing his balance on several occasions.

On one occasion, he nearly plummeted to his death. As he teetered on the edge, looking down over a painful death, a gloved hand suddenly closed around the collar of his coat. He was yanked back roughly.

His mistress looked down at him, coldly. "If you break any of my property, you're going straight back to the slavers."

Raki kept his balance, after that.

Finally, they descended the slope and emerged into the town's main avenue. Valentine reached in one of her pockets and pulled out her compass. As she opened it, it produced a loud whirring noise. The needle was spinning rapidly, whirring loudly.

"Umm… what is that?" asked Raki.

"It points me in the right direction." She snapped the compass shut and drew her sword. "Stay close."

The town seemed deserted. Raki walked behind her, as quietly as he possibly could. Still, his movements seemed awkward and noisy compared to his mistress's. She might have been a cat stalking a mouse.

A cold wind blew in from the sea.

A man burst from a building, carrying a bloody saber. Ivy's blade sliced through the air and cut him in half. His torso flew apart from his legs, trailing intestines behind.

He landed on the ground. His face was bone-white and contorted in anger. His eyes were bright red, just like… Miss Valentine?

The rushed townsfolk rushed forward, clutching bloody weapons. Ivy's sword cut them to pieces; the chain passed in broad, stately arcs, dismembering her victims. She twisted around; Raki ducked just in time to avoid the passing of the chain as it cleared an entire street. Blood and gore sprayed across the buildings and ground.

A man with a sharpened rake rushed towards them. Miss Valentine killed him; more closed in from the other side. She turned and ran into a tavern; Raki followed her.

But inside, there were even more of them. She cleared the room with a brutal swipe. Raki slipped in the blood and fell to the ground, breathing heavily. Miss Valentine was valiantly defending the entrance of the building, splicing them apart.

One of them was creeping up on her, slowly.

"Miss Valentine!" yelled Raki.

She turned just as the creature sank its teeth into her arm. "Dammit!" she screamed, and crushed its skull with the hilt of her sword. "Up the stairs!" she yelled to Raki. They both began to back up the stares as the monsters came on, being butchered by the dozen.

A crossbow bolt passed inches from her skull. She quickly retreated into the upstairs hallway and through one of the doors. "Bar the door!" she yelled. "Quickly!" Raki slammed it shut and looked around, looking around. There was a desk against the wall; Raki quickly hurried around it and pushed it in front of the door.

A few seconds silence.

Then, the pounding started.

"What are those things?" demanded Raki.

She ignored him as she examined the bite on her arm.

"Miss Valentine," added Raki.

"They were once people. People, like you and I, who had dreams, lives, and loves of their own. Now, they've been corrupted, by a fragment of the Soul Edge."

"Soul… Edge?"

"A sword. The original sword, I should say; all other blades are made in its image."

"What did it do to them?"

"The same thing it does to everyone. It took all that was vile and immoral in their nature and twisted it, amplified it, until it consumed their very essence. Those people… when they saw a fragment of the blade, their hearts filled with avarice; they guarded it obsessively, until they become the lunatic monsters you see before you, mindlessly guarding a 'treasure' that slowly leaches their life away. There are probably hundreds of them: the original population of the town, compounded by the dead travelers and adventurers who came searching for fragment, and the unsuspecting seafarers who wandered here and were consumed."

Raki shivered. "Are we going to die?"

She looked at him. The hammering on the door continued. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

She reached inside her cloak. From it, she produced the sword… the sword Raki used to maim Voldo.

"Mistress Valentine?" he asked.

"Take it," she commanded.

"But-"

"Hurry!"

He grasped the sword by the hilt.

"You showed talent, earlier," she said. There was even something approximating a smile on her face. "I might even show you the basics, if we get out of here alive."

The door was splintering. They were coming at it with axes.

Raki swallowed his fear. "Miss Valentine?"

"Yes?"

"If the Soul Edge is so dangerous, why do you want it?"

She grinned, wolfishly. "I'm going to destroy it."

The door caved in, and two swords whipped through the air.

-


End file.
